


Hearing Colors

by justakidfromhellskitchen



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Song fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 03:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4084930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justakidfromhellskitchen/pseuds/justakidfromhellskitchen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt wakes up to hear Wesley playing the violin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearing Colors

**Author's Note:**

> Written to J.S Bach’s "Violin Concerto no. 1 in a-minor BWV 1041 II Andante" which is what Wesley is playing at the beginning of the scene.

The frequency and duration of each note spurts different colors in Matt's mind. At first, he thinks it is a dream. Sometimes, he still dreams of colors -- of azure skies and bleeding sunsets. Sometimes he dreams of his father.

But this is not a dream.

At first, it is a teasing of colors. Then a sustained note glistens, golden yellow like the wings of a canary, and flutters through the bedroom. Matt feels the notes trickling into his heart, staking his fears and lightening the load of the ever-present darkness. It tantalizes him, moves him, and Matt is suddenly drifting out of bed in search of the sound.

He feels a heartbeat synced with the strings of a weeping violin, beating steadily as a metronome. The tendrils of music extend their fingers in invitation. Matt sways. He is a willow on a hilltop, and this is the wind's music.

Sudden silence chokes lingering vibrations, and Matt frantically tries to capture each fading melody. But the ghost of the music escapes through his fingers as water through a sieve. Darkness is thick and vast again.

Wesley’s heart thrums like a harp against the silence. "I woke you up," are his first words.

Matt wants to answer, but the words are stuck to his tongue and he cannot seem to pry them off.

"Are you ... crying?"

"No," Matt croaks, but his fingers dip in the hollow under one eye to find it damp. "Maybe. It wasn't intentional."

A clutter to the left tells him Wesley is packing his instrument. "Please don't," he begs. "It was beautiful."

"I don't play for an audience," Wesley replies curtly, but the tail of his sentence has a tilt of amusement to it. "

"I can't even see you play."

"But your ears still function properly, I take it."

Matt's back finds the familiar cushion of his couch. "Please?" he whispers, shifting to get comfortable.

"Very well." Wesley lets out a theatrical sigh. "Consider yourself lucky, Mr. Murdock."

Matt does not grapple with the smile which exposes his teeth. It is his genuine, uninhibited smile. "I do. Every day."

"What would you like for me to play?"

"Oh, you're taking requests now? I must be special."

"Don't push it, Mr. Murdock. This is a one time deal."

Abruptly, The pain and the twining around his stitches flood his senses, suspending his breath. He presses a hand to his side, his next words a battle. “It’s because I almost got stabbed to death, isn’t it?”

“You do that on a daily basis, Mr. Murdock.” Impatience colors Wesley’s tone. “The offer for your own private concerto will expire in sixty seconds.”

A breathy laugh hisses out of Matt’s lungs. "All right, all right.” A pause. “Your favorite piece, then."

"What makes you think I have a favorite piece?" Wesley plucks the violin, and the ripples of raw notes push and tug gently against Matt's skin like the ebb and flow of the sea.

"You're already tuning for it."

"Touche." A rustle of clothing tells Matt that Wesley has tucked the violin under his chin. Matt watches with all of his senses but one, thirsty for the elusive colors.

A different song begins, its notes pattering against Matt's ears as lightly as the first spring rain. But it swells before colors explode in the darkness. Ribbons of golden and silver waves surround Matt, chasing one another around the room until they collide in a blinding rainbow of sparks. Emotions build in Matt’s throat. This is not only a song. It is Wesley's song.

James himself glows, his body temperature raising exactly two degrees as sweat drips down the back of his collar. James is embroiders each note with passion almost effortlessly, and Matt finds himself thinking, There is no camera for this kind of view.

The bow rasps into a full stop, and this time, the colors do not fade. Matt falters into action, applauding with unrestrained delight.

James dips into a low bow before straightening up once more. "Ah, I apologize. I just bowed."

"Bravo, bravo!” Matt continues applauding. Fresh tears drip from the tip of his nose. He feels one at the corner of his bruised smile. "I hadn’t heard that one before. Was that your own piece?"

"It was." James adjusts his tie, checks his cuff links. His heart still dances, twittering like a bird's. "Did you enjoy it?"

"I loved it. When did you write it?"

"Improvised, actually," James corrects.

Matt’s jaw hangs slack.

"I did say it was only for you, didn’t I?"

Matt finds himself on his feet again, tilting his head towards James. "But that was the first time you played it?"

"Yes, in a manner of speaking. I hear it in my head when I ..." James' words are momentarily lost before being found again. "I hear it when I think of you."

The information soaks through Matt's head as slowly as moisture being absorbed through earth. By the time he has processed it, Matt has already erased the distance between them.


End file.
